


Something I Need

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: The Big Bang Theory (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-14
Updated: 2013-12-14
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:43:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FBI AU, in which Penny is on the trail of a killer, there are copious Silence of the Lambs references (the prompt asked for Hannibal but I haven't seen the TV series), and generally the BBT ladies are BAMFs. Written for damalur for Saturnalia 2013.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [damalur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/damalur/gifts).



> Betaed by queerlyobscure, who nixed the initial tl;dr epilogue, and weasleytook, who objected so vehemently to the original ending that I changed it. This is why I need betas, because I babble.
> 
> Thanks to Vix, Ishie, Cumber, Lisa, Vahnee, Orion, Nick, Frogglin, Hespa, and Jak for corpse disposal suggestions.
> 
> The Big Bang Theory characters belong to Chuck Lorre, who frankly doesn't deserve them, but what can you do?
> 
> * * *

**J. Edgar Hoover Building**   
**Washington, D.C.**   
**11.21 AM, Monday March 4th, 2013**

 

“Hey, Starling!” The voice reverberates around the indoor range, but Penny ignores it anyway, pretending that her earmuffs have blocked out the sound, until her current magazine is emptied. Only when she’s put the gun down and trundled the target toward herself, noting with pleasure the tight clustering of holes at the paper heart, does she look over at the observation room to see who’s seen fit to disturb her at practice. 

If it’s Kripke, she’s gonna reload. 

It isn’t. Winkle’s waving at her, looking half irritated and half amused. “Come on, girl. Hofstadter’s finalized the psych profile on Valentine. Briefing’s in ten minutes.” 

“How long do you think ‘Valentine’ is gonna stick?” Penny asks, hanging up her earmuffs and returning the practice piece. “Once the press get wind of this...” 

“It’s worth a try.” Winkle tucks her hand through Penny’s arm and tows her toward the meeting room. “Anyway, it might not last for long. Bevvie’s got the guy pretty well nailed, so far as I can tell from what the SAC was saying, and with her profile we should be able to start narrowing it down.” 

“Jesus, Winkle, do you ever call anyone by the name on their badge?” 

“No, Clarice,” Winkle says, and sucks her teeth at Penny. 

* * *

Dr. Hofstadter stands at the front of the room, uncapped whiteboard marker in her hand. **_VALENTINE_** is already printed across the top of the whiteboard, with what information they’ve managed to verify so far underneath it. The list is depressingly short. Penny scans the room for Kripke and doesn’t see him, but to her surprise -- _thanks a lot for the warning, Winkle_ , she thinks -- it looks like _Wheaton_ ’s the SAC. He’s standing up the front with Dr. Hofstadter, holding a clipboard with a thick sheaf of papers on it. The room is full; some of the agents won’t be in the final group for the case but for something like this everyone needs to be at the big briefings, just in case. 

“Can I get everyone’s attention?” he calls out. Yep. Whenever Penny finds out which of the ADs made him king of the hill she’s going to eviscerate and eat them herself. This should be _her_ baby, dammit, and instead of her it’s Wheaton front and center, just because -- she doesn’t even know _why_ , but she feels like it probably has something to do with gender, and which one of them is willing to kiss the most ass to get the really interesting assignments. 

It’s not fair. She _found_ the first one herself. Her, not Wheaton, not anyone else. Found the body, dumped by the track that she runs every morning through Poplar Ridge Park. Did the initial (boring, boring, boring) paperwork to file it as a murder. Was the first to hear about the heart thing from the pathologist who did the post-mortem. (And been a little disturbed at just how much Dr. Rostenkowski’s eyes had lit up when she had been describing the careful, nigh-surgical removal of the heart.) This should be _her_ case and she doesn’t know how to keep the anger from showing on her face. 

“You could have warned me,” she murmurs to Winkle. 

Winkle’s hand tightens on her arm and then falls away. “I didn’t know how to break it to you.” 

“Well. Shit.” 

Wheaton gazes pointedly across the room at them. Penny falls silent and looks at her feet so that she doesn’t have to look into his too familiar eyes. She somehow doesn’t think that their current expression is laden with desire. She folds her arms and surreptitiously pinches the back of her wrist to attempt to shut her brain up. 

“Based on the current evidence retrieved from the three crime scenes, suspect Valentine is male, in his thirties, and likely to be Caucasian. No DNA has yet been located, indicating that he’s intelligent enough to cover his tracks; glove marks and powder at two of the scenes were of a readily obtainable brand.” Dr. Hofstadter pushes her glasses up her nose. “The precision of the removal of the hearts suggests someone familiar with anatomy. The autopsy results indicate use of a professional bone saw and spreader as well as various sizes of scalpel, so Valentine has access to surgical equipment.” As she speaks, Wheaton writes the information down in dot points on the whiteboard. “If he’s not a doctor himself he knows someone who is. It’s not exactly the sort of thing one obtains from Craigslist.” She permits herself a thin smile. 

“What’s he doing with the hearts?” someone down the front asks. 

“That we don’t yet know, although generally speaking, profiling in similar cases indicates the intent to use the body parts obtained for consumption.” 

Penny groans internally. She just knows that Winkle’s _never_ going to stop calling her Starling now. 

“Why the heart?” someone else asks. “There have to be easier body parts to remove. Couldn’t he just cut himself off a piece of ass?” There’s a spatter of laughter at this, which subsides when both Hofstadter and Wheaton glare. 

“There are many nutrients available in the heart,” says a new voice from the side of the podium. Dr. Rostenkowski, blonde hair falling out of its typical tight bun, takes the three steps lightly and turns to face the assembled agents. “Vitamins, especially B vitamins; antioxidants; potentially free radical scavengers, depending on the health of the heart in questions... considering he’s been targeting joggers, they’re probably quite fit. It can be high in cholesterol, but again, that’s probably less of an issue in the young, healthy people he’s been going after.” 

And that, right there, is why it should be Penny’s case. 

Because it could be her next.

* * *

“Cheer up,” says Winkle when they’re out of the briefing and settled at their favorite cafe just off Pennsylvania Avenue. “At least it’s not lady suits.” 

“All things considered, I think I’d _prefer_ lady suits. I mean, can you imagine all the puns that can come from ‘heart’? The radio stations will do a My Bloody Valentine revival, and that I _don’t_ need.” 

Winkle cocks an eyebrow, stirring sugar into her latte. “Who was the one who thought of calling him ‘Valentine’ in the first place?” 

“Me,” Penny admits. “But it wasn’t the heart thing. I didn’t know the, you know, extent of the heart thing at the time.” 

“Oh. Why, then?” 

“Did I not tell you _when_ I found the first one?” 

“Right,” Winkle says when it sinks in. “Oh. Nice gift, huh?” 

“I would have preferred chocolates,” Penny says. Thinking about it is putting her off her cappuccino. She remembers the flash of light nearly blinding her, going to see what it was, seeing first the wristwatch face gleaming in the sun and then the slim, feminine arm that it was attached to. A young woman, like her, whose name she’d never known but who she’d occasionally nodded and smiled at as they passed each other on their respective circuits of the track. Inexpertly concealed behind a stand of bushes, she would have been the only one that was found, if not for chance. But three days later a golfer found the second one when he hit his ball into the water near hole three out on the east course at Compass Pointe. That one had been tied and weighted down, but had bobbed up in the reeds. And the third one had been found a week later by an enthusiastic dog that had scratched a hole in one of the horseshoe pits at Fort Smallwood Park. 

There’s no way it can be any more on Penny’s turf unless Valentine dumps the next one on her doorstep, and yet Wheaton has it. _Wheaton_. Damn him. 

“It could be worse. At least none of them were raped.” 

Penny sighs. “I know I sound like a bitch, Leslie, but I almost wish they were. You know, instead of the heart thing. Sex offenders, they’re predictable and they’re prone to doing stupid shit that gets them caught. Some guy going around eating people? Who knows what the fuck’s going through his brain?” 

“Well, Bevvie does, presumably. I thought her profile was pretty good.” 

Penny pushes aside her mostly untouched drink. “I’m going home. I need to sleep on this, and those girls aren’t gonna get any deader.” 

“He might go for a fourth one,” Winkle points out. 

“Well, if he does, it’ll probably be someone on my street, considering the dump site pattern, so I’ll just leave my window open and listen for the screaming.” 

It’s one hell of a start to the work week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Poplar Ridge Road**  
 **Pasadena, MD**  
 **4.01PM, Monday March 4th, 2013**

 

Missy greets Penny at the front door by saying, “I need a favor.” 

“If you want me to cook dinner, get the phone book and remind me which pizza place _didn’t_ give you food poisoning last time.” 

“That’s not it.” Missy looks shamefaced. “Actually, it’s kind of a retroactive favor. See, my brother’s visiting from California, and he needs a place to stay while he’s giving lectures up at UMBC. He was staying with the Hofstadters -- he’s friends with their son -- but then Dr. Hofstadter had some kind of argument with him and the son, and--” 

“Missy, the bathtub’s insufficiently secure against slippage.” A tall man bearing a distinct familial resemblance to her housemate walks into the hallway, barely pausing when he sees Penny. “Also, your shower curtain is turning green, which, let me assure you, is not the color it’s supposed to be. Hello, Penny. I assume you’re Penny, anyway. Missy said you live with her.” 

“Um,” Penny says eloquently. 

“Sheldon, will you quit whining about everything?” Their other visitor is at least a little familiar -- Leo, or something; he’s Dr. Hofstadter’s son and Penny has met him a couple of times. “Your sister’s doing us a -- oh, hey, Penny.” 

He couldn’t look more awkward if she’d caught him without his pants. 

“Hi, Leo.” 

“Actually, it’s, uh, Leonard.” 

“It’s _Doctor_ Leonard Hofstadter,” the newcomer -- Sheldon? -- corrects him. “And I’m Doctor Sheldon Cooper. My sister has offered us the use of your spare room while I’m in the area, since my prior accommodation arrangements have come to an unexpected end.” 

“Unexpected?” Leonard splutters -- she can’t think of him as Dr. Hofstadter, that’s his mom. “Sheldon, you told my mother that psychiatry was an imprecise and ultimately irrelevant pseudoscience, and when she tried to argue with you, you told her that you couldn’t expect anyone with an IQ of less than 180 to understand.” 

“Well, she _wouldn’t_. _You_ didn’t.” 

“And you superglued adhesive ducks to her bathtub!” 

Missy turns to Penny and shrugs helplessly. “Well, that’s Shelly, and I guess you know Leonard.” 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Leonard says, attempting a sincere smile. 

Given the lecture they just got this morning about the possibility of Valentine being a doctor, Penny is not at all sure that she wants two doctors in her house, however well Missy knows them. 

“Excuse me,” she says as politely as she can, walks to her room, closes the door, and flops facedown on the bed to scream into a pillow.

* * *

“So, UMBC, huh? I didn’t think they had a medical department there.” Penny scoops up a forkful of her pineapple and chicken fried rice. (Pizza has been vetoed on the grounds that it isn’t Thursday. Penny does not want to know why.) 

“They don’t,” Sheldon says. 

“Shelly’s not a medical doctor,” Missy says. “He’s a rocket scientist.” 

Sheldon stops scraping the satay chicken off its skewers into his bowl of jasmine rice and glares at her. “I’m a _theoretical physicist_. My work is well and truly outside the field of mere rocket science.” 

“Neither of us are that kind of doctor,” Leonard offers. “I’m an experimental physicist.” 

“Do you work at UMBC too?” 

“We’re both over here on a kind of working holiday. We’re actually from Pasadena in California, which is a hell of a coincidence.” 

“And the sooner we get back there, the better.” Sheldon starts stirring his chicken and rice methodically together. 

“He means no offence to Maryland. He’s just homesick.” Leonard lets out a melodramatic lovesick sigh. “He misses Alex.” 

“I do not!” Sheldon says just as Missy asks, “Who’s Alex?” 

“His _girlfriend_ ,” Leonard sing-songs. 

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend. She’s merely my research assistant.” 

“I assume you would’ve told me if you had a girlfriend.” Missy’s Texas drawl gets stronger when she’s talking to her brother. It’s interesting. “You should have girlfriends at your age.” 

“Could you refrain from making statements like that? I hear enough of that from Mom.” 

“Speaking of moms, your mother gave us a really good psych profile today, Leonard,” Penny says before remembering that Dr. Hofstadter’s probably not a good subject to mention in light of the fight. And the bathtub thing. She’d better buy a plastic bath mat before _their_ tub gets violated. “Missy’s not on this case with me, but I’m afraid she’s probably going to hear about it a lot.” 

“You talk about work at the dinner table?” Sheldon looks horrified. 

“ _You_ talk about work at the dinner table. And everywhere else,” Leonard points out. 

“Yes, but my work is purely of the mind. It doesn’t involve dead bodies.” 

“How did you know I was working a murder case?” Penny can’t help but raise her eyebrows. 

“I mentioned it to them earlier. I told them you were likely to be stressed out and to give you your space whenever you need it.” Missy digs her chopsticks into her bowl, breaking up the clumpy, glutinous rice. “Can someone pass me the soy sauce?” 

Leonard and Penny both reach for it at the same time and their hands brush. Leonard jerks his back. Penny pointedly doesn’t look at him as she conveys the bottle the rest of the way to her housemate. She looks at Sheldon instead, who’s focused on his food, paying no attention to the conversation now that it’s turned to condiments. He certainly looks as though great scientific theories could be ticking away behind those faded-denim eyes. They’re such an arresting blue, almost cold, a long way from Wil’s soft brown, yet with their own appeal. 

Penny kicks her own ankle under the table. Her brain is going to all kinds of unhelpful places today.

* * *

After dinner, Penny retires to her room to go over her case notes so far. She’s about three minutes in when her head starts to ache, and she pulls out her reading glasses and slips them on. She can hear Missy and Sheldon talking on the other side of the wall, in the spare room; the emphatic note in both their voices is soothingly familiar even if they’re arguing. 

Leonard knocks on the frame of her open door. “Sorry, Penny,” he says, “but I was going to make up the couch and the dynamic duo are too busy squabbling about sleeping arrangements to tell me where the sheets are.” 

“Oh! Oh, sure. The couch actually folds out, if that helps; it’s not great, but it’s probably at least a little better. But there _are_ two beds in the spare room; why can’t you share with Sheldon?” 

“He kind of has a thing about sharing his sleeping space with other people.” Leonard looks embarrassed. “He kind of has a thing about a lot of things. Mostly germ-related.” 

“He’s mysophobic?” 

“He carries hand sanitizer in his pocket.” 

Penny gets up from her desk. “Well, we have plenty of spare sheets and blankets, and you can take the pillows off the other bed in there once he and Missy are done arguing.” 

She only gets as far as the hallway, though, before Sheldon stalks out of the spare room. “I’ll take the couch,” he informs Leonard. “Neither of those beds are firm enough for my back.” 

Penny opens her mouth, although she doesn’t know what she’d say, but Leonard beats her to it. “Are you sure? Even with the fold-out mattress, it’s not going to be all that great.” 

“I was the one who got us kicked out of your mother’s house. You take the bedroom.” Sheldon’s already halfway down the hall, pulling his wheeled suitcase, before Leonard can say anything in response. He disappears into the living room and Penny hears the thump of cushions being tossed aside. 

“That... was remarkably reasonable, for Sheldon,” Leonard says, staring down the hallway after him. 

“I just hope it sticks,” Penny says. She’s not sure she can deal with this on a nightly basis. She ducks into the spare room to pick up two of the pillows, and then opens the linen closet to retrieve the right sized sheets and a blanket. 

Sheldon’s got the bed unfolded and is rearranging the couch cushions at the head of it, tucking them securely down into the gap between the top of the mattress and the back of the couch. Penny wordlessly shakes out the fitted sheet over the mattress and Sheldon offers her a brief, tight smile. 

“I apologize for being difficult. I would have thought that Missy, being prone to back pain herself, would have bought better mattresses for the guest room.” 

“I bought them, actually, and it was what i could afford at the time.” Penny smooths the sheet over the corners and pulls it taut. “I’m sorry it doesn’t meet your standards, but I don’t exactly get paid enough to turn this place into the Hilton.” 

He catches her hand, and, if Leonard’s hand brushing hers was a mild electric shock, this is lightning spearing up her arm. His fingers are warm, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m not doing very well at accepting your hospitality, am I?” 

“Let’s just get this bed made and call it a night, will we?” She realizes a second too late that it sounds vaguely suggestive, but Sheldon doesn’t seem to notice. 

They finish making the bed in silence. Penny excuses herself to her room; there’s work to be done, but she’s having difficulty focusing. It’s been a long time since Wil, and while Leonard seems interested, she’d be in seven shades of shit from Dr. Hofstadter if she went down that road. Mind you, the wrath of Missy if Penny makes a move on her brother might be even worse. 

Penny gets absorbed back into crime scene photos and evidence lists, but her mind is definitely not all on her work.


	3. Chapter 3

**J. Edgar Hoover Building**  
 **Washington, D.C.**  
 **10.13 AM, Thursday March 7th, 2013**

 

Penny’s shivering, despite having jogged six miles before making the drive into D.C.; the air has a real bite to it, especially since she’s in the morgue. 

Dr. Rostenkowski has a bad habit of talking with a scalpel in her hand and gesticulating too much. After two minutes, Penny snags her wrist and gently pulls the sharp implement out of her hand. 

“Sorry. I’m just...” Bernadette sighs in frustration. “I can’t fathom how this asshole’s getting access to surgical equipment.” She points at a scraped segment of bone. “That bone saw’s probably better than _mine_.” 

“I don’t think being jealous of a serial killer’s equipment is all that constructive.” 

“The bright side is, they found this one double bagged in black plastic. He obviously thought trying the lake thing again would work better if he threw a few bricks in with her, but they ripped clean through it.” Bernadette looks gleeful. “Forensics are having a field day with all the potential PE.” 

“Who’s working it up there, remind me?” 

“Fowler. She’s got a new assistant for the scut work. He’s kind of a pain in the ass but they get on okay, which is more than I can say for the last guy she had in there.” 

“I should go speak to her and meet him, then,” Penny says. 

“That’s okay, I still have more work to do on Catherine number four, here.” 

“ _Catherine_? What happened to Jane Doe?” 

“I have too many Does. Catherine was the young woman--” 

“I know who she was. The would-be lady suit.” Penny looks down at the woman on the table. “Did you say she was found in a lake?” Her face is a delicate pale, her lips blue, her eyes closed. 

“Yeah, Lake Waterford. It’s--” 

“I know where it is.” 

Bernadette looks mildly annoyed. “Well, if you know all this stuff, why keep asking questions?” 

“I’m sorry,” Penny says, touching Bernadette’s shoulder. “It’s just really close to home.” 

“I keep forgetting you live in Maryland.” 

“Sometimes I wish I could forget it, too.”

* * *

Dr. Fowler’s lab is immaculately clean. The array of microscopes and mass electron spectrometers and glowing monitors always amazes Penny; she knows that Fowler gets the results, but not so much about how. 

Fowler’s new lab assistant is sitting near the entrance, intently examining a slide under one of the scopes, but stands up the second that Penny knocks on the open door. “Hello, there. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He crosses the floor and extends his hand to her. “Agent Howard Wolowitz.” 

Penny shakes his hand. “Special Agent Pen--” 

“Penny, thank goodness you’re here.” Dr. Fowler bustles out of her back room. “I know, I know, I should be taking all of this straight to SAC Wheaton, but frankly, I’m disinterested after the way that he treated you. I found prints.” 

“Prints! Yes!” Penny drops Wolowitz’s hand and punches the air. “Any results from IAFIS yet?” 

“Not yet. It was only a couple of partials, so it’ll take longer. But let me show you what else I’ve found.” Fowler leads Penny over to one of the tables, which is covered in ziploc bags. “There was water damage to some of the PE, but between Rostenkowski IDing the brand of bone saw and the results from the blood samples that she sent up, I may be able to narrow down the medical supplier, and then we can get an idea of the area this guy’s working from.” 

“I assume he doesn’t actually _live_ in Pasadena. He’d have to be pretty stupid to shit where he eats.” Penny considers this for a second. “Or eat where he eats, actually.” 

“Well, he certainly knows where to go for the gourmet meals. Not a one of these women have been in bad shape. All between 25 and 28, fit, regular joggers, and in peak circulatory condition judging by what he _left_ of the circulatory system, anyway. Rostenkowski sent me the blood after she found needle marks.” Fowler picks up a clipboard and leafs through the pages. “I wasn’t totally surprised to find that he’d used sufentanil instead of a poison. He wouldn’t want anything lethal in their systems that might contaminate his cooking.” 

“Sufentanil’s a powerful sedative,” Wolowitz offers. “An overdose is fatal, but obviously that wasn’t an issue for Valentine.” He rolls his eyes a little. “Who picked that name, anyway? Way to ruin one of the best days on the calendar.” 

“I picked it,” Penny says, at the same moment as Fowler says, “Wolowitz, not ten minutes ago you were complaining that you haven’t had a girlfriend for three years.” 

Wolowitz shrugs. “It’s still a good day... if nothing else, there’s always some poor woman who’s just been dumped that the wrong moment or otherwise spending the evening alone who needs a knight in shining armor.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” Fowler says drily. “Rostenkowski confirmed the lethal dosage level, so it’s down to us to trace it back to the supplier and see if that correlates with the purchase of the relevant bone saw.” 

“That’s not the kind of thing a civilian just walks in and buys, is it?” 

“Not in the slightest, which only points more strongly to the probability of this being a medical professional or someone with ties to the industry. Certainly the sufentanil’s a controlled drug. However...” Fowler pauses. 

“Go on.” 

“it’s not unlikely that it could have been stolen. The saw, too. If Valentine knew what he was after, and I’m assuming he did, he could have accessed a hospital dispensary somehow. That’s my second most likely scenario after him being a doctor himself. Most likely a surgeon or someone working in that general area; they’d have the easiest access.” 

“Hospitals would keep tabs on that sort of stuff, wouldn’t they?” 

“Of course.” Fowler sighs. “I hate cold-calling. Wolowitz, get on the phone. Call the local hospitals and find out if anyone around here’s misplaced a bone saw, a rib spreader, and a whole mess of sufentanil.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to check Craigslist as well?” Wolowitz goes back to his desk and starts tapping away on a wireless keyboard, bringing up a list of hospitals on the monitor nearest to him. 

“Maybe. If we don’t have a hit with the hospitals.” Fowler turns back to Penny. “I have the rest of my findings so far written up. I assume you’re meeting with Wheaton today?” 

“Yeah, it’s my lucky day.”

* * *

Her meeting with Wheaton (well, and Winkle, and the other agents on the case) is at eleven. Fowler’s notes are tucked into her briefcase and she has a take-away coffee in her hand. She feels as prepared as she’s going to be. 

Wheaton’s office is depressingly familiar and cozy. There’s the potted ficus she got him for their six month anniversary, drooping a little but still vibrantly green; there’s the couch they first made love on. She makes a point of dropping into the chair in front of his desk, keeping it between the two of them. Because, naturally, she’s the first one there. 

“How are you, Penny?” 

“Fine. Fowler spoke to me about some lab results she got and asked me to present them on her behalf. Seems like Valentine’s using an opiate to dope the vics and then cutting the hearts out once they’re dead. Usually of respiratory depression, according to Rostenkowski’s notes, but the first one... the first one died _after_ he started cutting on her.” She’s talking too fast, partly because of what she’s saying, mostly because of who she’s saying it to. 

“Penny. Pen. Slow down.” Wheaton reaches across the desk to cover her hand with his. “Worry about that when everyone’s here so you don’t have to brief everyone twice. Is everything alright with _you_?” 

“Oh...” Her first instinct is to turn her hand over underneath his and intertwine their fingers. She pulls her hand away instead, leaning on the edge of the desk in a not quite casual move. “Well, things have been a little rough since i found this dead body on my favorite jogging track. You might have heard about that. And then, wouldn’t you know it, more dead bodies turned up in my neighbourhood.” She knows she should stop but her mouth keeps running. “To cap it all off, I didn’t even get assigned as SAC for the case, despite knowing the area better than anyone else. Funny how that works.” 

Wheaton sighs and reaches for her hand again, and this time she doesn’t pull away. “Pen, the only reason I got picked over you is that I have seniority.” 

“By one fucking _year_ , Wil!” Penny snaps. 

“There _is_ one other reason.” His thumb is smoothing over her knuckles and she’s annoyed at how much she feels reassured by it. 

“Go on. Enlighten me.” 

“It’s because it _is_ your neighborhood. So you need to be sticking to your normal routines and _watching_ while you’re out there. If Valentine’s watching the area, he may well know where you spend all your time, and if he knows you’re an FBI agent and suddenly things change, he’ll know we’re on to him.” 

Penny raises an eyebrow. “You don’t think all the warnings going out telling people not to go out alone aren’t doing that?” 

“Yes, but we’re targeting other areas as well. Baltimore, Annapolis -- it’s going out on statewide radio stations -- it’s not just about Pasadena, Pen, we’re not that stupid.” His hand tightens on hers and he leans in a little towards her. “We don’t want to chase him away from your neighborhood.” 

Penny understands all at once. “You want him to stay there,” she says. “You want him where I can watch him. Where I can _catch_ him.” 

Wheaton nods and Penny surges up out of her seat before she can stop herself, pressing her lips to his. His mouth is half-open with surprise and she pulls back before she can do any damage, grinning. “Thank you, Wil. This is the best present ever.” 

Wheaton pulls his hand back and rakes his fingers through his hair, going a little pink. “I wasn’t expecting _quite_ so enthusiastic a response, but you’re welcome.” 

Penny’s still grinning when Winkle walks in. “Hey, Wheaton. I see you still haven’t shaved off your chin-rat. Are you waiting for it to breed you some pubic hair so you can look like a real man all over?” 

“That’s insubordination, Winkle,” Wheaton says, but he’s smiling. 

The others trickle in: Koothrappali, whose law background doesn’t stop her from being the second-best shooter in Penny’s graduating class from Quantico (Penny was first); Davis, who’s smart as a whip and wearing jogging shoes with her business skirt and blouse; Barnett, who immediately sits down next to Penny and whispers, “I’m sorry,”, while inclining her head towards Wheaton; and Ford, who looks as if she’s got more piercings than ever. Penny expects that to be it, but the door opens one more time and Bloom scuttles in, looking down at his scuffed shoes. Great. Two guys on the team and it’s the two she’s dated. What are the odds? 

“We’ll open with a quick recap and then bring you all up to speed on the latest vic,” Wheaton says. “Penny’s got a report from Fowler, and Bloom’s going to demonstrate the new wires we’ve got to rig you with when you’re in the field.” 

The recap is old ground, but sometimes old ground needs to be walked again to make sense of the new ground. Penny waits her turn and then delivers the report from Fowler. On top of the news about the sufentanil, there’s news on the fingerprints: no news, as in no criminal record. Rostenkowski’s found something on two of the bodies that seems to be disinfectant from its chemical makeup, possibly used in an attempt to keep the chest wound clean while extracting the heart; Fowler is following it up. 

What she considers to be the real business of the day is the final subject that Wheaton brings up: bait. Bloom hands out button earpieces and mics tiny enough to conceal in a bra cup without chafing. Turns out Wheaton wants the others to help her, to split up the potential target areas. She doesn’t feel so special anymore, at least until he lets her determine who gets assigned where. 

“Pen, you stick to your regular routine. If Valentine’s watching the area as closely as I assume he is, then he’ll notice if you switch around too much.” Wheaton taps the map. “I’ve picked out four other routes. Unfortunately the nature of the case dictates that each of you need to go alone, but we’ll have the vans out and Bloom will be monitoring all of you. Backup will be no more than two minutes away, so if you can’t take Valentine down yourself, just yell.” 

“The lack of bruising and scratching indicates to me that these women have been taken down without a struggle,” Barnett says. “Presumably Valentine’s getting to know them at least a little before he strikes.” 

“Exactly. Which means don’t stop to tie your shoelace anywhere secluded.” Wheaton gives them a careful smile. Easy for him to say, if he’s going to be in the van. “We start tomorrow morning and run the operation morning and night until we get this asshole.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Poplar Ridge Road**  
Pasadena, MD  
9 **.25PM, Friday March 8th, 2013**

 

Penny’s sneakers pound the track, sending up puffs of dirt. The air is crisp and cool, and she’s probably more relaxed than she should be. That said, her weapon’s tucked safely into its holster at the base of her spine under her t-shirt, and she’s comforted by the soft sounds of the van filtering into her left ear. 

“How do you do that without breathing hard?” Bloom asks her. 

“Practice.” 

“You’re looking good. Well, yesterday,” Bloom amends. “I imagine you’re looking pretty sweaty right now.” 

“You liked me sweaty,” Penny breathes into the mic before realizing that Bloom’s probably not alone in the van. 

“Sweaty was fun,” Bloom agrees, the hint of a laugh in his voice. “I miss you, you know.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Penny fumbles her cell phone out of the strap on her arm and pretends she’s talking into it as cover. “I miss you too sometimes. But...” 

“It’s my fault, I know, I’m not trying to win you back.” 

“I don’t think realizing you’re in love with someone else is exactly something I can _blame_ you for.” Penny takes a quick look around. She’s still alone. “How is, um, Rajesh, isn’t it?” 

“He’s good.” The way Bloom stretches out the word _good_ tells Penny just how well things are working out. “You know his sister’s on this assignment too, right?” 

“I _knew_ I knew the name Koothrappali from somewhere.” 

“Mmmm. Speaking of whom, I’d better check in with the others.” The radio goes quiet. Penny tucks her phone back into its pocket and keeps jogging, leaning into the hill as she climbs it, wary of slipping on fallen leaves. 

She’s actually disappointed when she finishes the course and nothing’s happened. The reports filtering in from the others indicate that all’s quiet on the other fronts as well. 

“He could have done it another time today and we wouldn’t know,” she says, frustrated. 

“He’ll screw up eventually,” Ford assures her, crackling through the earpiece. “They always do.”

* * *

She’s halfway through fishing the mic out of her bra when some sort of prescience tugs at her mind and she turns to see Sheldon standing in her bedroom doorway. Penny drops the mic -- and her bra -- and folds her arms over her bare chest. 

“Sorry,” Sheldon says, looking at her a little too intently. His cheeks have gone pink. Penny’s impressed; she can feel that hers are flat-out scarlet. “I was just going to ask if you wanted anything reheated for dinner, since you came in so late -- Missy’s gone out for the night and Leonard’s still at work --  I already ate, but Missy insisted I make sure you did as well -- you know, she worries about you.” 

The only giveaway that he’s not actually totally composed about seeing her topless is the fact that he delivers this speech in one breathless sentence. 

Penny turns away, face still flaming, and picks up a clean t-shirt from the stack on the chair, silently thanking God that she already ditched the gun. She doesn’t do well with being startled. “That would be great, thanks.” 

“There’s satay chicken, rice--” 

“Anything’s fine, thanks.” She tosses him a smile back over her shoulder. “I’ll just shower real fast and meet you in the kitchen.” 

Sheldon can be slow to take the hint, she’s learned, but this time he’s off down the hallway like a whippet on crack, and Penny allows herself to snicker before finding clean underwear and making a move for the shower. 

* * *

Her hair’s still damp when she settles down in her chair at the kitchen table and Sheldon sets down a plate of rice and chicken and vegetables in front of her. 

“Oh, that smells divine.” She stirs soy sauce through the rice and starts eating. Sheldon sits down in the chair he’s claimed for the time being. 

“Do you think you’re any closer to finding this killer?” 

“I thought you didn’t like discussing my work at the dinner table.” 

“I don’t, but I’ve finished eating, and I’m not very good at small talk.” He looks uncomfortable and Penny feels sorry for him. It can’t be easy being the introverted genius sibling when Missy’s your bubbly extroverted twin. At least he’s not still babbling about bathtub friction. 

“I can’t really say too much, but the game’s afoot, Watson.” She grins at him. 

“You have broccoli in your teeth, Holmes.” 

“Damn it.” Penny shoves another mouthful of chicken in and chews, hoping to dislodge the greenery. Sheldon’s eyes don’t move and she realizes he’s staring at her lips. It’s cute, if a little ill-timed; lipstick-free and chowing down on Chinese food is not her most ideal pretty mouth condition. She swallows and bares her teeth. “Gone?” 

“Yes.” Sheldon leans forward to wipe his thumb over her cheek. “Sauce,” he explains, and pops the thumb into his mouth for a second. Penny is transfixed, and also wondering what the hell happened to the mysophobia. 

“So, um, what was Leonard saying the other day about you having a girlfriend back home?” 

Sheldon sighs. “Alex Jensen is my research assistant, on her way to earning her own PhD, working out of my office in my absence, and unequivocally _not_ my girlfriend. Frankly, I suspect that Leonard harps on it so much because he’s interested in her himself and wants to gauge my reactions.” 

“Or he’s being a pain in the ass.” 

“Or he’s being a pain in the ass,” Sheldon agrees, a smile turning his mouth into something that Penny wants for dessert.

* * *

Sitting on the couch while it’s turned into a bed is a little weird, but Penny rolls with it. Sheldon’s in one corner with his laptop balanced on his knees, a plaid afghan around his shoulders; she’s up the other end with the TV remote, flipping channels and trying not to shiver. The fire’s crackling nicely, painting the walls with shadows and orange light, but it has always been more visually appealing than functional. 

She stretches her legs out in front of her, stops changing channels when she gets to a repeat of _New Girl_ , and settles back against the cushions. 

“That’s not too loud, is it?” 

“No,” Sheldon answers absently, engaged in his typing. 

Penny gives it a five-count before she peeks. 

“You’re not working!” 

“I never said that I was.” 

“You slacker. You’re playing games!” Penny pokes his thigh. “I thought you were being all sciency, you look so absorbed.” 

“Even scientists have to blow off steam once in a while.” Sheldon flicks his pinky across the trackpad and suddenly blood showers across the screen; his character’s skewered an opponent right through the heart. “We all have our little outlets.” 

“That makes sense.” 

“Leonard plays the cello.” Sheldon pauses the game, puts the laptop aside, and turns to face her. “I should say Leonard _attempts_ to play the cello. Missy goes out clubbing. You run. The energy that builds up in us during the day if we’re working a fairly sedentary job has to be released somewhere.” 

Oh, she’s got some energy she could be releasing, all right. Too much time in close proximity to Wheaton and the sweaty reminiscing with Bloom earlier has given her plenty in the way of energy. “I wouldn’t call my job all _that_ sedentary.” 

“Yes, but you still need that time to clear your head, true?” 

“I thought you were a physicist, not a psychologist.” 

Sheldon shrugs. “It comes of Skyping with Leonard’s mother. Some of her ideas rub off.” 

Great. Now she’s thinking about rubbing things. And she could have sworn her mind wasn’t in the gutter when she got home. “So you know her pretty well?” 

“We’ve exchanged ideas and data. She finds it easier to communicate with me than with Leonard, so I’m the one she usually relays her life updates to, and I tell her how Leonard’s getting along. I haven’t yet informed her of his potential infatuation with my assistant, though, because the last time I passed on details of his love life he threatened to kill me.” 

Penny snorts. “I’m not surprised.” 

Sheldon looks over at the fire. “I suppose it must be hard for you to juggle a relationship with your work, given that it’s not exactly a nine to five deal.” 

“Oh... I’m not in a relationship. Did Missy tell you I was?” 

“No. I just... I assumed that a woman as...” It’s the second time she’s seen him flustered today. She rather likes it. “Are you cold? You have goosebumps.” 

“Yeah, a little,” Penny says. She feels deflated for point five of a second because he didn’t finish his sentence about what she was, and then perks right back up when Sheldon stretches out his afghan-covered arm along the back of the couch in a clear gesture of invitation. She scoots over to the middle seat. Sheldon’s arm comes to rest across her shoulders. It seems to be more companionable warmth-sharing rather than actual cuddling, but it does a lot to heat her up. 

“Leonard anticipated that he’d be late enough at the lab to need to stay at his mother’s,” Sheldon says, as though it’s just an interesting little factoid and not what Penny considers to be increasingly pertinent information. 

“Missy’s usually out pretty late,” she says, turning to look at him. The fire contributes gold flecks to his eyes, rendering them into pale lapis lazuli. She spent a year or so being crazy about crystals and Tarot cards and runes when she was first at college. Now it’s just a convenient comparison, because if she keeps her mind on minerals she won’t think about how his lips are soft rose quartz and he’s Missy’s _brother_ , for crying out loud. 

Sheldon wets his lips. “As I was saying, I assumed that a woman as attractive as yourself would obviously already have a significant other.” 

“I was wondering how that sentence was going to finish,” Penny admits, and Sheldon’s mouth curves into a smile. 

Penny tosses aside all of her worries about being menaced by Missy and just kisses him, revelling in the feeling of his mouth _finally_ under hers, his lips parting as she licks that insolently full lower lip, his smile lingering as his right hand comes up to cup the back of her head, long fingers cradling her still-damp hair. She breaks the kiss for a second to wriggle closer, swinging her feet over his lap ( _riding him sidesaddle_ , she thinks, and has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing) and tucking them under the arm of the couch. His left arm fits neatly around her shoulders, the blanket snuggly and warm, but not as warm as the heat of his body against hers. He takes a second of his own to drape the other end of the afghan over her bare feet but as soon as their eyes meet again they’re back to locking lips. 

It has been seven months and nine days since she broke up with Wil. Not that she’s been counting. 

Sheldon’s fingers comb through her hair, snag on a tangle, and withdraw to steal underneath the afghan and settle on the curve of her breast. Penny thinks he’s counting her heartbeats, the way his index finger taps against her skin in time. But then his thumb finds her nipple, and Penny forgets about the counting and gasps into his mouth, silently pleased that she didn’t put her bra back on after her shower. 

“Too much? Too soon?” He’s misinterpreted her reaction, starting to pull his hand away. Penny leans into his touch and Sheldon takes the hint and puts his hand back. Apparently he’s soon as frustrated by the layer of cloth between his hand and her skin as she is, because his hand traces down her side and slips up under her t-shirt, neat as can be. And all the while he’s kissing her, exploring her mouth with scientific precision and accuracy and not a hint of detachment. 

She’s got his shirt halfway unbuttoned and her t-shirt is somewhere under her ass and his mouth is latched onto her nipple, tongue darting, teeth scraping lightly, when the front door opens and Missy merrily calls out, “Pants on, everyone!” 

Seventy seconds later, when Missy walks into the living room, Sheldon’s in the middle of slaughtering a horde of goblins, and Penny’s channel surfing, fully dressed and blessing her quick reflexes. 

“You two look like you’re having such a wild night out,” Missy says. 

“Speak for yourself. Since when are you ever home before midnight, Missyella?” Penny shoots back at her. “I didn’t hear your pumpkin pull up.” 

“I walked home, same as I walked into town in the first place. I was only after a quiet drink to get my head out of work space.” 

“You _walked_? With Valentine still out there somewhere? For fuck’s sake, Missy, this isn’t a game. What would you have done if he came after you?” 

“You don’t need to worry about her,” Sheldon says, not looking up from his computer. “She could snap a man’s neck with her thighs if she had to. She started tae kwon do training when she was six.” 

Penny actually knew that, but under the circumstances she’s not about to explain to Missy why the fact slipped her mind. 

“Anyway, I need sleep.” Missy yawns and stretches. “Shelly, want me to get you a blanket or something? You look cold.” 

“I’ll be okay,” Sheldon says, glancing sideways at Penny, who’s huddled in his afghan.


	5. Chapter 5

**J. Edgar Hoover Building**   
**Washington, D.C.**   
**10.13 AM, Monday March 11th, 2013**

 

They’re still waiting for Valentine to make his next move. Rostenkowski has emailed around a list of the dates, approximate times, and locations for each of the prior vics and Penny is trying to puzzle them into a pattern, but it just isn’t coming. Fowler has been constructing hypotheses for the reason behind the removal of the hearts; as a result Penny also has half a dozen Wikipedia articles open in tabs on her laptop ranging from simply “Heart” to “Human sacrifice in Maya culture”. She’s learning a lot more about such rituals than she particularly wanted to know, but the logic behind it is starting to sound chillingly reasonable in light of what they know about Valentine. 

“It could be something to do with proteins,” she says when Wheaton walks into her office without knocking. “Or B-vitamins.” 

Wheaton doesn’t smile. “He got another one, Pen.” 

Penny just stares at him. 

“I fucking hate Mondays,” she manages eventually.

* * *

Even Rostenkowski’s usually sparkling personality is dampened by the sombre vibe in the morgue. The body lies under a sheet, head and neck exposed, a red rose blooming over her chest. Penny doesn’t need to lift the sheet to know that her body will be as young and fit as the rest of them. 

“Where’d she turn up?” she asks. 

“Some guy found her under a tarp in his boat on Bodkin Creek. I guess--” Rostenkowski pauses at the sound of Penny’s stifled gasp. “What’s wrong?” 

“That’s right at the end of my road,” Penny hears herself saying. “First the park, now the creek... is this asshole _trying_ to get me to find him?” 

“If he is it means the bait strategy’s more likely to work,” says Wheaton. 

She wishes she’d never kissed him. 

“As I was saying,” Rostenkowski butts into the barely veiled glaring, “I guess Valentine thought we wouldn’t find her until fishing season.” 

“Obviously he didn’t realize that some people don’t give a damn about the weather. I know some people down that end of the road who’d ice fish if they had to.” Penny finally looks down at the woman’s face. “I know her.” 

“Who is she?” 

“I don’t know her _name_ , it’s not that short of a road. She always wears pink and jogs with her iPod strapped to her arm. In the mornings she jogs with her dog--” Penny stops. “It wasn’t this morning, was it? Where’s the dog?” 

Rostenkowski’s already shaking her head. “Saturday night, as far as I can tell, taking the cold nights into account. It got down to forty degrees. No dog, no leash, no contusions on her hand to suggest that a leash might have been pulled away in a hurry.” 

“It was Saturday night, then. Around eight.” Where was she around eight? Finishing dinner? Throwing her laundry in the machine? That stupid machine; Sheldon had taken one look at it and taken himself and his laundry basket into town, grumbling something about hating laundromats but hating hard water more. She’d made her run at quarter to nine, taking the Poplar Ridge Park route, Bloom’s mic and earpiece firmly in place, dutifully reporting back to base every few minutes. She hadn’t seen anything. She hadn’t heard anything. And that asshole had been down the other end of _her_ road. 

“That’s when you usually saw her?” 

“Yeah. She lived about five doors down from me.” 

“She have a husband? Kids?” Wheaton asks. 

“Yeah.” Penny feels her heart sink. “Guess we know who’s telling them.” 

Wheaton nods. “And I’ll get you to talk to the guy who called it in, too. He’s currently being held at the Baltimore field office pending questioning.” 

“I’ll put on my running shoes,” Penny says without thinking about it.

* * *

Baltimore’s a dead end. The guy who found the body, whose name is Hunt, looks familiar enough to Penny; she’s not really surprised that he’s prone to going out fishing on weekdays, since she’s pretty sure she’s seen him out there at all hours. 

He seems reassured by the fact that it’s her, an at least vaguely familiar face, and not some hardass cop questioning him. She goes through the questioning drill and gets nothing but some repetitive answers and a faceful of marijuana breath. 

In the end they have to let him go, although Penny does suggest to him that maybe he should find a café close by and partake of a hot drink to give himself time to settle down before making his way home. How he’s going to get home when he got a free ride here courtesy of the Feds, she doesn’t know and doesn’t care. Maybe there’s a bus or something. She’s got more important things to worry about.

* * *

It isn’t any easier telling the husband and kids considering that she sort of knows them, or at least has seen them around. Two kids; little blonde girls, hanging on to their golden Labrador as if she’s all they have left. 

“We reported her missing late Saturday night, as soon as Briana realized that her mom hadn’t come home to kiss her goodnight.” 

Penny takes notes, reassures the family that the FBI are doing everything they can, and makes tracks before he can ask her why _everything they can_ means that Valentine’s still out there.

* * *

It’s weird driving back into Washington against the flow of peak hour traffic. She’s called Missy to let her know she’ll be working late, only to find out that Missy’s also working late, in the final stages of her own assignment. Penny’s been so immersed in the Valentine case that she’s not even sure that she knows what Missy’s doing. 

“Are the boys going to be all right without us?” she asks. 

Missy laughs affectionately. “They probably won’t even notice we’re not there.” 

Penny thinks she’s right, but an hour later, when she should be home, her phone buzzes with a text. 

It’s Leonard. Huh. 

 _Is everything okay? You’re late._  

Penny smiles and rolls her eyes. _I’m still at work. You and Sheldon can raid the freezer. I think there’s lasagna in there._  

 _Not on a Monday. Do you have the number for that Thai place?_  

 _It’s on the fridge. Have a good night._  

“Date?” Wheaton asks acerbically. “I’m sorry, I would have scheduled the latest serial murder for another day if I’d realized you were busy.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Penny snaps. “Missy and I have houseguests and I’m making sure that they’re all right.” 

To her surprise, Wheaton shuts up, apart from the necessary comments as he works through her reports. 

“Rostenkowski found some more of that weird disinfectant stuff on the latest Catherine. Fowler’s following it up. Apart from that, there’s nothing new from the pathology side of things. The rest of the team are out running tonight.” 

“You think he’ll try again so soon?” 

“Barnett’s wearing her best low-cut tank top.” 

For a second the mental image of Barnett’s ample bosom mutilated to get at the tender meat underneath flashes behind Penny’s eyes and she winces. 

“Sorry.” 

They finish the day’s work in total silence, until Wheaton finally walks her to the lift at eight-thirty and says goodbye. 

“I’ll hear you tomorrow,” he says, giving her the smile that had endeared her to him in the first place. 

“What -- oh. Yeah, sure. What about Bloom?” 

“Oh, he’ll be around too. I just wanted you to know that I’ll be there.” 

“Uh. Sure.” 

The awkwardness hangs palpably between them until the lift dings and Penny makes her escape.


	6. Chapter 6

**Poplar Ridge Road**   
**Pasadena, MD**   
**10.07 PM, Monday March 11th, 2013**

 

Penny’s managed to get her clothes on post-shower this time, but otherwise she feels kind of like it’s déjà vu all over again when Sheldon knocks on her doorframe. He’s not blushing this time at least. 

“Did you bring me dinner again?” she asks. 

“I’d intended to at least offer you some late night refreshment, but unfortunately my sister and Leonard are occupying the kitchen,” Sheldon says with a very prim look that means they’re not in there folding tortellini. 

“Oh. Uh.” Penny’s supposed to be doing a final read of her notes before bed, but there’s something about a man in black jeans and a nice blue shirt, even if he’s wearing a red t-shirt under it with a lightning bolt on it for some reason, that appeals to her. “Good for them?” 

Sheldon raises an eyebrow. “Not exactly terrible for us,” he murmurs, stepping into her room and easing the door closed behind him. “I believe we were rather rudely interrupted the other night. But if Leonard’s average performance time is anything to judge by, we should have at least twenty minutes.” 

“TMI,” says Penny. 

“Sorry.” 

And then his mouth is against hers, fitting as nicely as it did on Friday night. His hand settles on her breast with very little in the way of preamble. 

“Your heart’s racing.” 

“It’s been a while since anyone checked up close and personal.” 

They’re very conscious of Missy and Leonard just down the hall, but at the same time Penny feels like this is something that she needs. She curls her fingers into the back of Sheldon’s shirt and curls her tongue into his mouth and the next thing she knows paperwork’s scattering everywhere as he sweeps everything off her desk and pushes her hard against it.

“Quiet,” Penny gasps. 

“Mmmm.” His long fingers make their way up under her t-shirt and she hooks her legs around his waist, pulling him in. “I can keep quiet if you can.” 

Penny demonstrates how it’s a little easier to keep quiet with someone else’s tongue in your mouth. They break the kiss only for Sheldon to work her t-shirt up over her head, and then Penny’s the one guilty of making noise, soft little whimpers and gasps as Sheldon works her throat and breasts with his mouth. 

She gets as far as wriggling Sheldon’s shirt down off his arms and yanking his t-shirt off over his head, and there’s a minute of delicious skin to skin contact, before Missy calls from outside the door, “Penny? You home?” 

“Was that fifteen minutes?” Penny asks, sliding off the desk and pulling her t-shirt back on. 

“Ten and a half,” Sheldon says, putting his own clothes back together and raking his fingers through his hair, which only serves to scruff it up further. “Either Leonard’s performing below average, or he’s discovered some heretofore unknown set of morals that mean he’s suddenly got compunctions about sleeping with my sister.” 

“Penny? Is Sheldon in there with you?” 

Penny shoves everything off the floor back into its manila folder, dumps it on the desk, and tips her laptop out of its case on top of everything else. “Yeah!” she calls back. “He’s helping me fix my laptop!” 

“Did you spill yoghurt in it again?” 

She doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes!” 

 _Yoghurt?_ Sheldon mouths at her. 

“When you’re done, there’s pecan pie in the oven.” Missy’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. Penny lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized that she was holding. Sheldon’s leaning against the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him up; considering how hot and heavy they were just getting, maybe he’s a little weak at the knees. 

“Yoghurt?” Sheldon repeats out loud. 

“Yeah.” Penny scrubs her hand across her face. Suddenly she feels very tired. “It’s a long story.” 

Sheldon pushes away from the desk and kisses her one more time, slowly, his tongue gliding over her lower lip, as if he’s savoring the taste of her. “Tell me, sometime. Right now I should probably go and beat Hofstadter senseless for messing with my sister.” His Texan drawl creeps in heavily for the last part of the sentence, and Penny laughs. “Maybe I could come running with you tomorrow?” 

“Sure, why not? If you can keep up with me.” The words are out of her mouth before she can remember that _why not_ involves an ongoing criminal investigation. 

“You’d be surprised,” Sheldon says, opening the door and vanishing down the hallway, but not before Penny has time to note how his ass flexes in those black jeans and guess that maybe he’s not such a bad runner after all. 

Not to mention the other things he could do with that ass, some of which would also warrant a criminal investigation, she decides.


	7. Chapter 7

**Poplar Ridge Road**   
**Pasadena, MD**   
**8.20 AM, Tuesday March 12th, 2013**

 

“Isn’t this a little late to go out and still make it to work on time?” 

Penny straightens up from tying her shoelaces. “I’ll make it.” She doesn’t mention that technically, this _is_ work. Or that she’s going to have to keep her t-shirt on so that he doesn’t spot the mic hidden in her bra. Not that she’d normally consider stripping down while she’s out running, but under this particular set of circumstances, well. 

Sheldon looks uncomfortable in baggy shorts and a t-shirt and a dorky looking fanny pack. He has a regular iPod holster on his arm, though, and she figures that means he may not bug her the entire way with talking. Not that she minds hearing him talk, at least when he’s not arguing about bathtubs, but she prefers to focus on _running_ when she’s running. 

“Is that what you run in?” 

“Loose clothing’s better for circulation during exercise.” He tugs at the holster, settling it more comfortably. “Should we go?” 

“Yeah.” Penny wants to check her own equipment, but sticking her hand down her top doesn’t seem like a good idea right this second. Especially not considering that they have the house to themselves and fondling her breasts in front of him would be tantamount to an invitation.

* * *

The air outside is crisp and cool, but it doesn’t take long for Penny to work up a sweat anyway. Sheldon keeps pace with her, his long legs eating up the ground. They don’t talk much, apart from passing comments on the weather and the browning leaves on the trees, as if they’re out on a first date and haven’t at all made out twice. 

She pauses a couple of times, ostensibly to fix her shoelaces or hike up her pants, but actually to murmur that she’s okay into the mic, each time getting a brief affirmative back from Wheaton. She spotted the van on her way onto the main trail, parked in the very corner of the lot at the elementary school, but it’s nice to know that he’s actually listening and not just thinking about Barnett’s low-cut top. He lets her know that Bloom’s about to go do a coffee run; she wants to ask for a bear claw but mumbling about pastries into her bra is going to get a very weird reaction from Sheldon. 

Sheldon falters more often than she does, and before they’re even a mile along he halts altogether and puts his hands on his hips. 

“Something wrong?” 

“I may have misjudged my fitness levels.” He gives her a pained smile. “I think I’ll walk back and meet you at the park entrance.” 

“You can just go home, if you want to,” Penny offers. “I won’t be offended.” 

“And I won’t be able to get in. I left my key behind. I assumed you’d have yours.” 

“I’ll try not to take too long, then.” Penny kisses him lightly on the cheek, tasting salt, and takes off again before she can cool down too much.

* * *

She may have overdone it with the heating up, but she’s always been one to push herself beyond her limits. The problem is that when she goes to check in with Wheaton again just before the final mile back to the park entrance, she gets total silence, and she’s pretty sure it’s because she’s sweated into the mic. It’s no big deal; she can always pretend like she’s checking the van isn’t some asshole going after the children at the school and let Wheaton know that everything’s clear that way. 

Sheldon’s leaning against a tree at the park entrance, looking a lot better for having rested. There’s pink in his cheeks and his eyes are sparkling, and she can’t resist pinning him there for a second, hands against his hips, and kissing him thoroughly. 

“Come on, we’d better go back. I need to shower before work.” 

“You shower a lot.” Sheldon falls into step beside her, her slower cooling-down pace a lot more amenable to him. 

“I try to keep them short, but I’m not going in to work like this. Or to bed at night.” 

“You certainly stay fit.” She sees his eyes flicker over her in an appraising look, and idly wonders how late she can get away with being to work. 

“The FBI does have fitness requirements for field agents.” 

They’re nearing the elementary school car park and Penny pretends to spot the van. “Huh. I think I’ve seen that van before. Mind if I check it out quickly? Hopefully it’s not some guy creeping on the kids.” 

“It’s probably just the janitor,” Sheldon points out. 

“Still...” Penny leaves the main road, weaves between the trees, and stops beside the van. The front windows are only lightly tinted, enough for her to see at a glance that there’s nobody in the front seat, which is pretty much what she expected. She raps her knuckles against the side door. “Hello? Is anybody in there?” 

There’s no answer, and mic or no mic Wheaton should fucking well recognize her voice through the door. She knocks again. “Hello?” 

“I told you,” Sheldon says from right at her elbow, “it’s probably the janitor’s van and he’s inside working.” 

“In the middle of the school day? Mopping the floors so the kids can fall over?” 

That’s when she realizes the side door is open just a crack. Well. Maybe she can peek in, catch Wheaton eating donuts, and get the door closed again before Sheldon can see all the paraphernalia inside and know that she’s not exactly being straight with him about her motive for checking out the van. 

She slides the door open six inches, sees the blood, and then feels the sting in her upper arm. 

“I’m sorry, Penny, but you have something I need,” Sheldon says with a note of real regret, and Penny gets as far as slapping the needle away before he can press the plunger fully in, but then he has her by the throat and those long, graceful fingers are immovable iron. He nudges her backward, widening the gap enough to get her into the van, and then _shoves_. Penny kicks out but catches only air. Then she’s on her back, her head hurts like a horse just kicked it, and she’s swallowed up by the metallic tang of blood in the darkness as Sheldon crawls in with her and the van door closes. 

She is drifting, drifting, clinging to consciousness by a thread of pain. 

He shifts over her. She can feel his weight on her stomach and hears the tear of Velcro and then the clink of metal on glass. She flails her arms at him but apparently the van isn’t as dark for him as it is for her because he leans back, dodging her slaps. She can’t roll; he may be lightly built but he’s heavy enough. She has to wait for him to put himself in a vulnerable position, and somehow she doesn’t think it’s going to be when he has to open his pants, like she learned in one of her self-defence classes. 

“Shhh, quiet,” he murmurs. “I’ll make it fast if you’re quiet.” 

And _that_ sounds so much like a line from the same class that she goes rigid under him and then attempts to punch him in the solar plexus. 

“ _Penny_.” Now he sounds vexed. “Stop being silly. You have no idea of the contribution you’re going to make here.” 

“Then tell me.” She’s blinking the light back into her eyes and can see him as a shadow in the dark. “Sheldon -- Doctor Cooper -- tell me _why_.” 

“Antioxidants. Free radical scavengers. _Life_ , Penny.” He’s breathing fast. She hears a tapping noise. Knocking air bubbles out of the syringe? Trust the scientific bastard to have a backup needle just in case the first broke. “It’s an imperfect solution to ageing, but it will buy me time to find the real answer.” 

“You sick fuck,” Penny says, knowing it’s exactly the wrong thing to say. “How can you _believe_ what you’re saying?” 

“I feel it in my veins,” Sheldon answers, and then he’s pinning her right arm down with his left hand, and the tip of the needle touches her skin, pokes in delicately, but she has her left hand free and she’s found what she _thinks_ is an empty soda can. A full one would have been preferable, but as she swings from her shoulder and slams it into the side of his head, it seems anything will do with the right element of surprise. Sheldon yelps, suddenly sounding a good deal less sure of himself, and Penny throws her weight up under him, aiming to get him off balance. 

“ _Move_ ,” she hears herself snap, and he does, smacking his head against the partition between the back and the driver’s seat. He’s still half on top of her but half’s better than all and she rolls the other way, shoving at his leg with one hand and tucking the other arm around her head to avoid another nasty knock. She squelches when she lands and knows it’s Wheaton’s -- _Wil’s_ \-- blood. Her head’s on something soft this time, which would be good except that she’s positive it’s Wil’s stomach. 

“If you want to do this the hard way, we can,” Sheldon says, and she hears a zip open, and remembers the stupid fanny pack. And here she’d thought he was just paranoid about his wallet. 

She still can’t really see, but kicks out gamely anyway. Her left foot connects with something and then his blunt fingernails are digging into her bare ankle and he shoves her leg up toward her chest, like an overenthusiastic lover keen to try out a new position. She lets him bend her knee and then pistons her foot up again, but he dodges it. There’s blood in her hair and her hair is in her eyes and this is all just unfair bullshit. 

“You think you’re just going to walk away from here covered in blood?” 

“Of course not. Your dead friend over there has the keys in his pocket.” He swings his right arm down and she blocks it with her forearm. The pain is sudden and immense. “I’m more concerned that you’re making more of a fuss of this than is strictly  necessary.” 

Penny gives up on kicking and just sits up abruptly, aiming to headbutt him somewhere. It’s a mistake; his left hand catches her by the throat and pushes her back down, and this time he’s not letting up. 

“I prefer not to cut off the oxygen so sharply,” he says ruefully, “but you leave me no choice.” She feels the back of the scalpel or knife or whatever he has against her stomach, ripping neatly through her t-shirt, up through her bra. He scrapes it over her skin to push the cloth aside and expose her chest. She’d make a remark about wondering where he’s got his bone saw hidden, if not for the fact that she can’t fucking breathe. The darkness is closing in faster than ever. 

Then he makes the first incision, and she finds that she can breathe, after all, at least enough to hack out a hoarse scream. 

Light. Light slams into the van. No. The slamming is the door opening. The light is just a consequence. 

“Get your hands up! Hands up! Back of your head, and then don’t fucking move!” 

Sheldon snarls, and the gunshot punches through the radio equipment next to his head, emitting a high-pitched squeal of feedback. But he doesn’t let up on Penny’s throat, and she feels the blade on her skin again. Summoning the last of her strength, she tucks her chin down toward her collarbone, opens her mouth, and _bites_. 

Eye for eye. Tooth for tooth. Sheldon lets go of her throat in surprise, and Penny _shoves_ up, gagging and coughing, and  then Sheldon’s weight’s going backward off her and she delivers a kick to his thigh before sagging sideways against the inner wall of the van. 

Bloom’s reciting Sheldon’s rights and reaching for the cuffs hanging behind the driver’s seat when Sheldon’s right hand comes up one more time. Penny sees it as a moving shadow and chokes out a warning to Bloom, who drops the cuffs and levels his gun at the back of Sheldon’s head. Another shot is unnecessary, though, as the blade clatters to the floor of the van (and, oh yes, it is a scalpel; it’s just fucking _huge_ ). 

What Sheldon actually does is squirt hand sanitizer out of a tiny bottle into his palm and start rubbing his hands together, as if the blood grimed there is a stain that will ever come off. He’s only halfway done when Bloom gets sick of waiting and yanks Sheldon’s wrists behind his back, snicking one cuff into place, then the other. Then he looks at Penny, an unasked question in his eyes, his gaze dropping to the bloodstain spreading across her chest. 

Penny just grins. “Hey, Bloom. Did you bring me a bear claw?” 


End file.
